A Great Wind. Captive for a While. Unwelcomed Quests. An Amulet.
The winter had arrived earlier than expected, and in a way that hinted it would be anything but ordinary. On a night that first seemed no different from those before, the sky suddenly filled with dense, whitish clouds, their snow-laden bellies dragging low across the rooftops, as if ready to burst. Meanwhile, a fierce wind rose from the north, from where the Jerall Mountains stood as strong and snowy sentinels along Cyrodiil's border. It soon became a raging storm, its gusts howling and tearing through the streets; then the snowflakes came too—big, wet, and soft, the following small and sharp, lashing against my cheeks like frozen needles.
As usual, I was prowling the city, searching for food or anything else useful. I pulled my meager cloak tighter around me, bracing against the storm, determined to continue my nocturnal raid. But the wind was relentless, nearly lifting me off my feet, trying to sweep me along its invisible wings. Then the blizzard descended in full fury, and although the night's spoils were pitiful, I had no choice but to retreat much earlier than planned. I slipped underground through the Merchant District trading hall's manhole, my only prize a pair of nearly rotten cabbages left to wither in a forgotten corner of the market. A sigh of relief escaped me as I reached the dead-end gallery I called home, slipping with utmost care through the lethal trap serving as both door and lock to my lair.
Inside, the storm's wrath was muffled. The howling winds above faded into distant whistles and the occasional dull rumble filtering through the manholes; deep within the bowels of the Imperial City, silence reigned, as always. Cold and drenched, I crawled into my bunk, and sleep took me swiftly.
When I woke, the silence was absolute; not even the soft whistling that had accompanied the blizzard remained. I stretched beneath the thick blankets wrapped around me, then sat up, bracing for the usual shiver that greeted me each morning. But it never came. The air in the gallery was warm; warmer than it should have been. And strangely dry. A prickle of unease ran through me because down here, any unexpected change could signal danger, and I knew very well the stirring mire nearby—restless, bubbling beneath its own weight—was unpredictable. At any moment, it could expand, creeping further into the corridor, swallowing anything in its path!
I sniffed the air, tense, expecting the telltale scent of decay or something else out of place. But there was nothing; no stench of death, no trace of anything unusual. Instead, the silence itself seemed to thicken, turning into something tangible yet weightless, as if I were wrapped in cotton wool. I could nearly hear the silence. This is an unsettling sensation when it lingers too long, but apart from that, I sensed nothing overtly alarming in the air around me. I stepped beneath the first manhole in that dead-end corridor, expecting to see faint light filtering through its grate, but there was none. Only darkness.
Assuming it was still night, I decided to investigate, curious to see what changes the blizzard had wrought above. But when I removed the hindrance and tried to lift the grate, it wouldn't budge.
I tried again with the next two manholes. None of them would open.
There was only one logical conclusion: the city lay buried beneath a thick layer of snow. Moreover, the gnawing hunger that plagued me meant that morning must have come quite some time ago.
So, a bit worried, I went back to my den, ate, and took stock of my supplies. A huge loaf of bread, nearly whole, a long piece of pork sausage, and plenty of apples. I cleaned the cabbages I had taken the day before and added them to my stash. For the moment, it was a decent haul.
The water, however,was a real problem. My canteen was barely half full, and in the city's sewers, finding drinkable water was impossible. It was an almost paradoxical situation—like a castaway dying of thirst in the middle of the sea, with so much water around!
I remembered then the pit surrounding the tall marble pillar and wondered if it might hold water.
Since I had never properly explored the vast central chamber of the sewer system, I decided to go there, taking a path I had never walked before—one that soon vanished into a winding, gloaming labyrinth. Yet the darkness of the maze didn't hinder me—my senses of smell and hearing guided me through this lightless world.
At first, I was confused, though, because the low hum from the central chamber led me to what seemed to be a dead end—a clogged gallery; the corridor ended suddenly at a wall, a brick wall. That wall appeared to rise straight out of the water, and when I knocked on it, it sounded hollow, not just thin, but as if something vast and empty might lie just beyond. Now, that wasn't as surprising as I thought it might be, because the connection between the Market District and the Imperial Palace is made through pipes far too narrow for any human, no matter how small, to squeeze through, as I would later discover during a severe drought. And they were full of water! That was just typical... As I may have mentioned before, the Market District's sewers were built and connected to the ancient system by humans, whose craftsmanship never even came close to that of the Ayleids!
Ah, I was amazed and quite amused; I took it as a game, and tried using my sense of smell. Yes, the scents were a bit different there, and that made me think the central room was very close. I must explain this—or at least try to: as strange as it may seem, the underground odors of the Imperial City's various districts differ considerably, and at their borders, the blend of smells becomes so complex that it can easily mislead an inexperienced visitor. But they are indeed different, and for someone clever, that may signify that the border between districts is near, and then, one can keep going until the characteristic scent of one district becomes predominant. Still, back then I lost my way for a short while, but in the end, after a long detour through the Elven Garden District's sewer, my combined senses led me back on track, and eventually reached the central hall—a place that, after my long trek through the sewer's darkness, seemed almost bathed in light.
There, a diffused light—an ever-present bluish shimmer—clung to the walls, like the memory of a long-vanished and peculiar sun. Most would mistake it for darkness, but to my eyes, it felt more like twilight—a misty and gloomy twilight, though strangely warm. Oh, just like in Evergloam—though a bit brighter! I wasn't able to trace its source, and the scholars who wandered through the Capital's underworks during the days of the Empire don't even mention it in their writings—likely because, as I've already said, to normal eyesight, it's nearly indistinguishable from ordinary darkness.
Later, I scoured the Winterhold College archives, chasing down clues about this strange phenomenon—I was so close to uncovering something truly fascinating when Faralda, in all her stiff, self-important glory, decided to expel me from the college. (You know, for reasons she greatly exaggerated.) Thankfully, my dear friend Brelyna has picked up where I left off, though Faralda—and her equally sour shadow, Nyria—have now restricted access to the more... 'interesting' sections of the library for ordinary members. Well, we'll wait and see...
Oh, but I've digressed from my story once again! I'm sorry, my friends! But you already know me, I think, so maybe you can expect more of these in the future... Sorry again!
As soon as I approached the massive column supporting the dome of the central chamber, I began to examine the shaft surrounding it with great interest. As I mentioned earlier, marble ledges circled the pit, interrupted at one point by a bridge that spanned the chasm and led directly to the pillar. There's a door there—a heavy bronze door—and it was locked, though probably from the inside; I couldn't find any lock or keyhole on it. That gate lacked even the usual handle on its exterior, so I quickly dismissed it and turned my attention to the well encircling the base.
I couldn't find a single loose stone on the smooth surface of the central chamber, so I retraced my steps into the gallery I had come from and peeled off a large piece of plaster from the damp wall. Returning to the pit, I let it drop inside. After what felt like an eternity, I finally heard a faint splash—one that shattered all my hopes.
Next, I went through the tunnel leading to the mausoleum in the cemetery. It was sealed off, and despite a thorough search, I couldn't find the mechanism that opened the secret hatch. More concerning, however, was a strange and unfamiliar scent lingering in the air—one that carried all the subtle warnings of danger. So I didn't press on and instead turned toward the gallery I had used during my first visit, the main drainage of the Talos Plaza District. As expected, when I reached the barred gate, I found nothing but pitch-black darkness, unbroken by even the faintest sliver of light. That gate was not only buried under snow but, to my dismay, a fresh padlock had been secured from the outside, completely beyond my reach.
Disappointed, I made my way back to my den. The trip was easier than when I came, because by then I had already developed a keen ability to memorize long routes traveled in the underground's darkness, and I reached my little haven without difficulty.
All that remained was to wait for the people above to clear the streets of snow. Until then, I would move as little as possible and ration every last drop of water.
And I waited. Down there, amid silence, time seemed to stretch and twist, as if the storm had frozen not just the city but the very flow of hours. I didn't get bored, though. On the contrary, this temporary isolation from the world above proved surprisingly rich and productive. I had both the time and the quiet to reflect in detail on the last year of my life so far. And I was amazed by the conclusions I drew in the end!
After all, only a year ago, I had been just a weak and disoriented being—a hungry little girl, distraught and grieving beyond measure over the death of her mother. And now I was surviving on my own in the middle of a big, uncaring city. I was so proud that I didn't think too much of my senses, which were far superior to those of any other human, and I took them for granted.
In the end, it both amazed and saddened me to realize how little I truly felt for my beloved mother, Kiersten. When I thought of her—and I can assure you I did so often during that time—only a faint nostalgia stirred within me, and a bittersweet taste crept into my parched mouth. Because yes, I suffered from thirst during that seclusion...
And when I tried to recall her face, all I could see was a slender, petite silhouette clad in a black short robe, one my mother Kiersten had never worn in my presence. She was shrouded in long, rich hair, yellow as gold, waving lightly in the breeze of a spring wind, and she spread a strange odor filled with the flavors of musk, nightshade, horse sweat, and freshly tempered steel. There were faint traces of incense and fresh blood in the scent that came from my mother Kiersten—the one in my imagination—whose face resembled mine very much...
I also reflected on how I had ended up in the Order's orphanage. Although I couldn't clearly remember anything about what had happened to me after my mother's death, I concluded that some urchins—like those who now sometimes hunted me in the night streets of the Imperial City—had robbed and beaten me almost to death. A not-so-new feeling began to grow inside me again, and I felt hatred and the need for revenge.
I saw Maria's face again, I heard her voice once more, and her words dripped onto my soul like balm:
'Do not be timid, and do not avoid fights that seem balanced or in your favor. You are much stronger than you think!'
And so I began to make plans. Cold, patient plans for revenge, which consumed my thoughts until the streets above were finally cleared of snow and the manholes creaked open once more.
When I finally emerged from the solitude I had endured over the past few days, I stepped into a frozen city, nearly paralyzed beneath snow and ice. The once-boiling life of the great capital seemed to have suddenly and permanently come to a halt in the icy silence that had settled over it; there were few people on the streets during the day, and almost none at night.
In no time, insecurity and poverty took hold, and bread quickly turned into quite the luxury. The food markets were empty, and large groups of people gathered every day in the Arena District and the Palace District, where hot soup was distributed almost constantly, free of charge.
At one point, however, moved by pity and concern, the Emperor ordered all the bakeries in the city to operate continuously for several days, and bread was handed out freely by the Order in many public squares across the Imperial City. But the grain and oats from the capital's Imperial reserves ran out quickly, and soon desperation and famine erupted. The bitter cold lingered far longer than usual in these parts, and even when it eased a little, new waves of snow would pour down from the ashen sky.
Unlike most of the city's inhabitants, I did not suffer from hunger during those terrible days. As always, the rich had plenty to eat, and I feasted—without remorse, and even with pleasure—from their storage.
It was during that time that I taught myself how to open simple latches and locks. Looking back now, I'm not so sure I could have learned such exquisite skills as quickly and easily as I did then. But at the time, I never questioned the inexplicable—I was far from being the philosopher I am today. In those days, I had other concerns—I was fighting to survive, and I can say that I did so brilliantly. Yet I had one serious problem: in the unusually harsh and prolonged cold, the ambient temperature in the city's sewers dropped far too low. I acquired extra blankets; I even found a new mattress. I wore layer upon layer of clothing, but nothing seemed to protect me from the terrible chill that kept me from sleeping. In a moment of desperation, I even lit a fire near my little nest, but the smoke that immediately filled the tunnel forced me to extinguish it almost at once. It wasn't a viable solution anyway—a fire in such places is always a source of many terrible dangers.
As a last resort, I thought of the central hall—that marble dome where everything was different: the air was dry, bad smells were nonexistent, and there was a permanent, though very dim, light. So I decided to return to the place and set up a temporary sleeping spot, even though that corridor leading to the Palace District cemetery always gave me a strange, unsettling feeling.
As soon as I reached the secondary galleries of the Elven Garden District, traveling on the once memorized route, I sensed something was off, like a wrong note in a familiar tune. A faint smell of smoke mingled with the usual odors of this area, and the faint, familiar hum of the central room, which I had grown so used to, was now twisted by unfamiliar chords never heard by me before in the city's bowels.
Instantly, I became more cautious and accordingly made my way through the subteranean labyrinth toward the main Elven Garden District collector channel. When I entered beneath its wide arches, it became clear that someone had been—or perhaps still was—in the central chamber. I took off my heavy boots and stepped silently toward the dim blue light that now seemed to flicker, just like a candle about to go out.
No one was in the great hall, but the signs of habitation were undeniable. The remains of a fire made directly on the marble floor—ah, that pained me terribly and made me hate and envy those who had warmed their bones by its cozy flames— the dirty clothes scattered across the floor, scraps of food left lying everywhere... everything told me that a group had been living here for some time. I thoroughly searched the room and found supplies: food, a large barrel of water, and, near the warm marble slabs around the central pit, some makeshift cots. Mattresses, blankets, and pillows—all disgustingly filthy—lay heaped in a chaotic tangle, and I couldn't even tell how many people had settled there.
I then entered the main sewer gallery of the Talos Plaza District and made my way to the access point through which I had first entered the underground. The barred gate was only superficially closed, and the padlock, though placed back in its spot, had been left open.
I returned then to the central hall and began rummaging through the belongings and supplies of those who had settled, uninvited, into what I already considered my own private kingdom. The more I investigated, the more convinced I became that I was dealing with urchins. Toys and an abundance of sweets lay scattered among their possessions—and then it struck me: perhaps, at long last, I had a chance to take revenge on the kind of creatures who had brought me nothing but pain and trouble since I first arrived in the Imperial City.
First, I helped myself to their food supplies, taking two large loaves of bread, a long sausage, and a bundle of dried fish. I would have taken more—I wanted them to feel the presence of a stranger—but I could barely carry what I had already gathered back to my lair.
I stashed the food carefully and went to sleep in my cold bunk. When I awoke, it was pitch black in my shelter, a sure sign that night had fallen outside. The cold bit fiercely, and shivering, I ate from my now much-improved provisions.
Then I set out for the planned night's prowl, dressed in the darkest clothes I owned. By now, the smoke in the main Elven Garden District gallery was so dense that my sense of smell—usually my strongest ally in this realm of shadows—was badly impaired. Deprived of that advantage, I was forced to rely almost entirely on my hearing, which, in turn, picked up strange new sounds I had never encountered before in this part of the sewers. It was a dangerous situation, and I knew it, but I did not abandon my plan.
I was determined to deal with those intruders, and I hoped very much that my actions would be enough to drive them away from the place where I intended to spend the rest of the winter.As soon as I reached the entrance to the central hall, I lay down on the floor and tried to assess the situation— to count the uninvited guests and learn what they were up to.
The fire they had lit was smoldering, and by its glow, I saw four small figures laughing and teasing each other over something. I crawled toward the Arena District sewer entrance and was surprised to find that the air in the central chamber was unexpectedly clear; the smoke had almost completely dissipated. Soon enough, my sense of smell returned, sharp and reliable as ever. Encouraged by this, I crept closer to the fire and, hiding behind their water barrel, listened to the chatter of those who were having such a good time there, in my realm.
I was surprised by the fact that I understood almost nothing of what they were saying. It sounded like the common tongue, yet the words were twisted oddly, pronounced in a way that made them seem foreign, and I could only make out a few disparate words in all their conversation, which was filled with sobs of laughter.
Still, I managed to piece together the general topic of their conversation: a priest of Mara had given a sermon earlier that day in the Arboretum District, followed by a generous distribution of oat flour and dried fish, which quickly descended into chaos, as the crowd fought over the food. Amid the scuffle, one of the boys by the fire had stolen the priest's amulet, which he now kept flashing from his pocket, radiating wicked pride.
This skilled thief was the oldest—a blond boy with long, uncut hair, wearing clothes that were far too expensive for someone like him. Another golden-haired child gazed at him in stupid ecstasy, parroting every word he said with servile enthusiasm, while the other two remained mostly silent, offering only raucous laughter and noisy approval.
Since I couldn't understand much of what they were saying, I lost interest in eavesdropping and chose instead to survey the surroundings—to see if anything had changed, and above all, to determine exactly how many had moved in without my permission.
There were about a dozen other children, a ragged mix of boys and girls, sprawled on makeshift cots around the central pit. I couldn't see anything special about them; they were all buried deep in sleep, wrapped in the same tattered rags, and all shared that unmistakable scent I knew so well—the smell of misery and poverty.
I slipped away into the short, narrow corridor leading to the mausoleum. There I waited until the chattering four had gone to bed, and then returned to inspect again their food supplies. Ah! New items had appeared—among them, a large piece of salted butter—a rare delicacy in those grim times! I slid it into the bag I'd brought. Then came the nuts and peanuts, of which I took as many as I could fit into the pockets of my apron. There was even a generous cut of fresh beef, appealing and red, but I had no means to cook it, so in the end, I filled my bag only with dried fish.
Then I approached the boy who seemed to be their leader. A strong lad, and—though fully immersed in the treacherous waters of sleep—rather handsome, I had to admit.When I spotted the amulet's chain coming out of his pocket, I smiled excitedly. I grabbed it and pulled it slowly, very carefully, and the jewelry came out without any difficulty. I hung it around my neck like a prize, and in perfect silence, disturbed only by the snoring of the sleepers, I went to see if I could overturn their water barrel.
Oh! It was too big and too full, but it had a faucet, so I opened it and let the water pour freely onto the marble floor. Then I scooped up as many of the scattered clothes as I could and tossed them onto the dying fire, hoping the flames and the stench would wake them in confusion and panic.
And then, very pleased with my deeds, I retraced my steps slowly, unhurriedly, back to my lair.
Not long afterward, still in the Elven Garden District sewer, I heard various shouts and screams echoing through the narrow galleries—sounds that bounced endlessly off the damp walls, fading into eerie repetitions. My hearing, always so sharply attuned to even the slightest vibration, was painfully assaulted by this nocturnal underground concert. And yet, it was a small price to pay for the deep satisfaction I felt in my soul. I even began to devise new ways to make those intruders' lives miserable in the future.
Once back in my haven, I safely stashed the food I had gathered and lit my only candle. By its flickering light, I examined the amulet of the goddess Mara. It was a cheap trinket—bronze, inlaid with tiny aquamarines—its only real value lying in the silver chain, and it wasn't even particularly beautifully crafted. Yet the face of the woman staring at me from the amulet had something both unsettling and attractive in her eyes.
The jewelry had been crafted in Bravil, in the workshops of the great Temple of the Mother, though I had no way of knowing that at the time; even if I had known it, it would have suggested nothing to me. Nothing at all, I had not even known of the existence of Bravil until then. But it took only one look at that face to make up my mind: as soon as daylight broke, I would go to the Arboretum District and inquire about the priest of Mara who had preached there the day before.
I fell asleep with the amulet clutched in my hand, and when I awoke, the candle was spent. Oh, that sent a cold shiver down my spine! It was very unwise to leave a candle burning for any length of time down here in the city's underbelly. Especially for someone like me! But what was done was done! So, after having a good snack and dressing in my best clothes, I left my little den through the nearest manhole.
Outside, in the frozen city, the same bleak ambience prevailed—an air of harsh, unending winter. Beneath the leaden sky and along the ice-laden, snow-cloaked streets of the Imperial City, people hurried about, their feverish eyes seemed to be searching desperately for something hard to find... Wrapped in countless layers of garments, buried under heaps of shawls and scarves, they all looked the same: worn down, impoverished, and grey. This was a neighborhood that, while never rich, had never truly been poor, at least not in normal times. But now, it looked like a place where the edges of society had gathered to try to warm up a little together.
Smoke curled from only a handful of chimneys, thin and ghostlike, as if the fire itself were whispering its last breath into the frozen air.
Deeply moved by the bleak appearance of the Market District, I was seized by a restless curiosity—I suddenly wanted to see what the Waterfront District had become, so instead of continuing on my planned route to the Arboretum District, I turned toward the place I hadn't visited in a year.
Or perhaps I had never truly been there... Mayhap that sweet, golden-haired little girl who had once walked on those alleys had long since vanished, replaced by a wild and filthy creature—a small predator struggling hard to survive in the urban jungle around.
The Waterfront, like the rest of the city, lay locked in winter's merciless grip. It was deserted, like one of those forgotten towns lost in the heart of Elsweyr's "Anvil of the Sun" desert.
No smoke rose from the chimneys of the snow-drowned houses, which now looked shrunken and lost, and the few windows that hadn't been boarded up or draped in rags looked empty and blind, gaping like open doors to another cold and lifeless realm.
The harbor was frozen, and the docks seemed abandoned. Yet there, faint signs of life remained: smoke curling from the cabins of ships trapped in the ice, and from within one of them, the bright, drunken chords of a harmonica drifted out, followed by bursts of laughter and voices shouting with the wild joy that only comes at a certain stage of intoxication...
As I wandered through the district's narrow alleys, I passed by the small cottage where my mother, Kiersten, and I had once lived. I stopped for a moment. I tried to remember, to summon the warmth and love that had once lived within those walls, but I couldn't.
The window still wore the same old curtains my mother had brought from Bruma, but everything else seemed distant and stripped of meaning, like a hollow shell from which life had long since fled.
I then wished to visit my mother's grave, but the cemetery was buried beneath snow, and its gates were locked. The wind, sharp and pitiless, blew from the north, stirring the bare branches of the ancient poplars that lined the road—branches stretched like bony claws toward the ashen sky. Apart from the merciless cold, I felt nothing—there was no grief. Not even the shadow of it.
I clenched the amulet in my fist, and from it pulsed a strange warmth—faint, but steady. And then, I remembered my duty and turned back toward the city, knowing with utmost certainty: I would never return here again.
The Arboretum District is a lovely place in the summertime. It's a huge park, a miniature forest nestled in the heart of the Imperial City. Statues of the gods from Nirn's pantheon stand in its glades, and the priests usually hold their sermons here, surrounded by trees, flowers, and open sky. Even in that dreadful winter, the tradition endured, and when I entered the great park, I found quite a crowd gathered—much of the city, it seemed, drawn here in the hope that the priests' words might bring them the solace they so desperately sought. And maybe some dried fish and bread too!
However, around the statue of Mara, there was no one. Only the remnants of yesterday's gathering remained: snow trodden and dirtied by countless feet, torn sacks, and even streaks of flour scattered like ghostly traces of charity now vanished.
I stood silently and watched the goddess statue for a while. Then I took the amulet from my pocket and studied it. The face on the amulet looked nothing like the one carved into the statue. While the public image of Mara was that of a woman bowed by sorrow, weighed down by endless compassion and the suffering of others, the figure on the amulet bore something more.
In her eyes was sorrow, yes—but also a steely will and a coldness, quiet and enduring, that looked straight through me from the small bronze disk.
I clutched it in my hand once more and thought that, since I didn't know who to return it to, I might as well keep it—for a while at least—and gaze upon it from time to time. But just as I turned to leave, a voice rose behind me:
"Do you seek the blessing of the Goddess, child?"
I turned and saw an old priest, tall, broad-shouldered, and with a thick white beard. His eyes bore into me with a strange sharpness, and, among the lightning that seemed to flash from them, I thought I glimpsed something else—a trace of interest, perhaps. Startled and deeply impressed by the old man's presence, I stammered:
"No... I mean—I don't know anything about Mara. I only came to return something that was stolen..."
The priest smiled.
"Stolen, you say? No, child. That which you speak of was not stolen. And you, Elsie, of all people, should be the last in the world to give back something you acquired through your own skill. Now... show it to me."
I opened my hand and held out the amulet. He gazed at it intently, then smiled again.
"Keep it, child. It's yours now—Our Lady wished to come to you."
I didn't ask how he knew my name. At that moment, it seemed perfectly natural, self-evident, and only later, after his overwhelming presence had faded, did I begin to wonder—and understand that, once again, something fated had happened to me. Back then, I only asked him why the two faces—on the statue and the amulet—were so different, and the priest said: "They are the same—only your eyes have yet to remember. One dreams in stone, as She so often does. The other walks beside you... and listens as you breathe."
Then he took my hand, and as we walked together through the little glade around the goddess statue, he told me about Her Holy City, Bravil.
Ah, even now, the mere mention of this name—Bravil— stirs in me a wild desire, aching longing... a compulsion to lie prostrate at the feet of the Lucky Lady, there, in Her City. When Secunda is full, its pale light seeping over rooftops and riverbanks, I always feel an almost physical urge to commune with Our Lady—and that, for me, is only possible in the shadow of Her great Temple in Bravil.
But then, the priest and I took a long walk in the wintry park. And he told me many things about Mara. He spoke of love and mercy, kindness and respect, candor and compassion. Time seemed to stop for me, it slipped away without notice, and by the time we reached the little forest gates, I was surprised to see the dusky shadows of a fuming winter sunset stretching across the city, overrun by cold and snow.
The priest paused there, looking at me with gentle eyes.
"You're a good girl, Elsie," he said. "Please—wherever your life may take you, don't forget that kindness and respect still exist in our world. And that forgiveness and mercy can sometimes cease for a time the never-ending fight that rules our lives here, in this wonderful realm!"
We parted there, and I returned to my little haven in the bowels of the great beast that is the Imperial City.
I reflected on the old man's words. They were nice—yes, and full of meaning too, or so it seemed. But for now, I found nothing useful in them. Not for someone like me.
I took off the amulet I had worn around my neck and studied the face of the goddess once more. She seemed to be smiling at me now, but not in the gentle way the priest had described.
Oh no, the Mara of the amulet grinned at me with a mocking curl of the lips, her gaze sharp and faintly contemptuous. I smiled right back at her and tucked the amulet away.
I ate a hearty supper in my frozen lair. But it felt warmer than the bitter streets of the capital, and here, in the depths, there was no wind—only a faint whisper, winding its way through the dark. Wrapped snugly in every blanket I owned, I drifted into sleep, lulled by the ancient chanting that endlessly echoed through the underground galleries.